Devoted Silence
by Jolie.Mots
Summary: She must always remember the code when placed under torture. Hope brings disappointment, cooperation brings disposal, defiance brings torture, but silence shows loyalty. Ziva's story. **Now AU, seeing as the new season has started. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, I know this is a bit of an overused storyline, but I couldn't seem to get my own version out of my head. Maybe some of you will enjoy reading it. Whether you enjoy it or not, please leave a review!

…………………………………………………………_._

_56…57…58…_

Fifty eight breaths so far.

…_59…60…61…_

Sixty one agonizing intakes of oxygen. Ziva felt her ribs scream in protest as her lungs expanded for the sixty second time since her captor had left her.

…_63…64…65…_

As long as she counted, as long as she kept concentrating with all her strength on the pain, perhaps it might diminish. She knew she was hoping for a miracle by hoping to be found. It was basic Captive 101: hope only brings disappointment; cooperation only brings disposal; defiance only brings torture; silence will make you loyal.

Ziva snorted, and immediately regretted it. Any type of movement or exertion just made the pressure on her broken bones more forceful. Loyalty. It was a word that had been impounded in her head since she was a child.

_Always remain loyal to me. Always remain loyal to Israel._

How many times had her father said that to her? To Tali? To Ari? To all of his officers? The thought of her siblings brought an emotional pain, perhaps worse than the physical pain that currently tormented her.

Of course, loyalty was something that Ziva had longed to claim. How simple the task of remaining loyal seemed when you were young and your hardest assignment was assembling a 45 caliber within your father's time limit. Now, when loyalty was needed the most, it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

But it wasn't her father's words that had kept her lips sealed for however long she had been held in this shit hole. It was the memory of their faces.

_No! _Ziva screamed at herself mentally. She could not replay them again. She would only allow herself to see their faces when she was on the brink of breaking. When she knew that she was going to put them in jeopardy, then she would see them and feel the pain of loss, the most torturous pain there was, and remember why she had not divulged everything she knew.

By the ninetieth breath the pain had subsided, however slightly, and she knew she had to relax her body. Being tense would only further the damage, as proven by the ache of protesting muscles. Relaxing was not that easy when you had been roughly tied to a chair.

Now, she was left to ponder. So many things! Why did they want to know about NCIS? What could she possibly know that this terrorist cell would benefit from? Did they know who she was? Was the fact that her father was the director of Mossad more valuable than any scrap of information she could provide about NCIS?

Through the haze of unconsciousness, the befuddlement of these questions became too much to bear, so an uneasy slumber seemed much more inviting. Ziva had already tried to resist the pull of exhaustion, but there was no way to now and, judging by the amount of time that had previously separated the sessions of forceful interrogation, she had a good half hour before she should be back on full guard.

Awoken by the thump of footfalls and the muffled whispers of an unfamiliar dialect, Ziva's eyes shot open, prepared to gauge the nature of the next questioning.

That scraping sound of the lock shifting open had come to haunt her, and, after all her hard work to relax, she tensed at the sound.

"Ah, is the lovely sleeping beauty finally awake?" He asked, his voice sending shivers up Ziva's spine. Damn! How long had she been asleep for? And how did they know?

Cameras. There must be some in the cell she was being held in. Again, Ziva made the mistake of allowing herself to hope, and she felt the faintest flicker of it that maybe Abby or McGee (she winced at the thought of them) would somehow see where she was.

_Silence. Remain silent_. She commanded herself and did her best to not make eye contact. Eye contact was to intimidate and demand respect, which she was in no position to do. She heard him shift slowly over to her.

"Are you ready to be a good girl now?" He leaned down so that his hot, repulsive breath blew across Ziva's face, even though she kept her head bent down.

_Silence. Silence. Loyalty. Remain silent._

"No? Well, that calls for some more…persuasion."

Ziva let out a yelp as he slammed his fist into her midsection, knocking the wind out of her and sending a piercing pain across her rib cage.

When her involuntary gasps quieted, he walked behind her, gently combing her matted hair away from her battered and swollen face.

"Anything? How about just your partner's name? I don't mind starting off slow." He had now gathered all her hair and Ziva winced while his other hand caressed her broken cheekbone.

Seething inside, she acted rashly, turning to spit into his face. Defiance always led to more pain. But he had made her remember Tony. _Tony._

Another yelp as he yanked back on her hair, straining her neck back until she could see him out of her good eye. There was the slicing sound of metal and, before she could react, a rusty knife was in his hand, inches from her neck.

"How about now? Just say one little thing, and maybe I will spare you."

With the blade dancing so close to her jugular, the word 'silence' was a hard one to live by. After sucking in a painful gasp, Ziva squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the dull ache as the left side of her face reminded her that it was damaged, and let the mental images sear into her eyelids.

Gibbs, his solid determination shining on his face.

Ducky, rambling on, with a good natured smile.

Abby, always with a reassuring happiness about her. How Ziva wished for one of her hugs right now.

McGee, so ready to assist and easy to rely on.

Finally, Tony. The most painful one to remember, solely because of how she had mistreated him in her ungrateful and grieving state. Would she ever see that goofy grin that always made her feel a little lighter? Would she ever have someone she looked forward to working with so much?

Those questions were futile, seeing as her chances of escape were slim to none, but they weren't what mattered at the moment. Even though flashing back to the only people she had ever allowed herself to get truly close with made her feel like she was ripping herself apart, it reaffirmed her position to not drag them down with her. If she was going to die, then the less loved ones that had to pay a price, the better.

Her interrogator became impatient, pressing the dull side of the knife just above the collar bone and cutting off her air supply.

"You don't want to talk? Fine, then. I can think of a few other things we can do." He aimed a well placed kick to the side of her knee.

She couldn't hold it in this time; the sharp, searing pain shot up and down her leg and she let out a gasping scream. Lack of air had made her head spin, but no lasting damage there while she twitched her knee to ascertain the exact damage there. Another sharp stab told Ziva what she had probably already known. Broken. That would make running anywhere difficult. Definitely not impossible, though, if it came to that.

"Let's see. I am guessing you know that I have extensive training in the field of—ah--coercion, we will call it." His putrid breath was on her face again.

Instead of responding, Ziva returned to her previous tactic. Silence.

Now he pressed his face close to her swollen cheek so that his lips were centimeters from her ear and hissed, "There are more than a hundred thousand ways I can think of right now to kill you. None of them will be quick or pleasant."

Intimidation. Threats. Pressure points. Lack of oxygen. Pacing the pain. All techniques that Ziva had learned and readily used when working for Mossad. But she would not cave in. She knew the games he was playing. Fear of death was often more persuading than pain. When you threatened death by pain, most of the time the captive would surrender.

Not Ziva. Not Ziva David.

And she knew the worst of it was coming, if not by her own training, then by the sadistic gleam in his eyes as he once again toyed with the knife in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to those who took the time to review! Your thoughts make me feel motivated to continue. Just a precaution, this chapter does get a little violent. I hope you all expected that when you decided to read this story. Another thing, I am relatively new to the NCIS world, so if I make a mistake, feel free to correct me. That also applies if one of you happens to be a doctor and I make a medical mistake. I know there was something else I wanted to say, but I have forgotten….

Disclaimer (forgot this before): I do not own NCIS or anything recognizable.

…………………………………………………………………

_Ziva saw Gibbs enter the room out of the corner of her eye, but acted as if she had not. If her father noticed as well, then he feigned ignorance along with her as he continued on speaking in their native language._

"_Ziva, you have become much too open minded. Watch yourself." His tone was menacing, and apart of Ziva was glad Gibbs could not understand her father's disguised threats._

"_You continue to manipulate the story to make your own image immaculate. Rivkin was never supposed to be in Los Angeles or the United States. Somalia was the targeted location, so why do you insist that he was still under Mossad control?" Ziva moved closer to Eli and lowered her voice, hoping he would understand that she needed to know. She _had _to know._

_But holding onto the hope that Michael had been there just for her, and not because of an assignment, was foolish. He was dead. So why did it matter?_

"_Ziva. You overstep your boundaries. The path you are taking will not end well. Let me warn you, you have witnessed what happens when my officers stray from loyalty. In fact, you have seen to it yourself."_

_Ziva flinched as the memory of killing her own brother flitted to mind. Exactly what her father had wanted. It wasn't the fellow officers he wanted her to remember. It was a specific one. He was reminding her what happened when his own children strayed._

"_It is not a question of loyalty. It is what I am expected to be loyal to. Is honor not as important to you as blind allegiance?" She knew she was pushing him nearly to the edge. He would snap, but it felt too good letting out everything out to stop now._

"_Enough, Ziva. Before you go too far." Her father closed his eyes, obviously trying to keep under control._

"_Perhaps Ari had a point. Mossad is weakened by its pride."_

_Now she had crossed the line and her father slapped her across the face. She had asked for it, she knew, but it was worth it._

_A slap on the face was not so much a punishment meant to inflict pain but rather as a humiliation tactic. Her father was rather fond of it, and Ziva knew now that her father was aware of Gibbs' presence. It would be a pointless move if no one was there to witness it._

"_Have I interrupted?" Gibbs spoke up, moving closer to the feuding pair._

"_Not at all, Agent Gibbs. Just catching up with my daughter." Director David turned with a smile to the NCIS agent, "I can see that America has changed her."_

_With one last look at Ziva, her father left. She had not heard the end of this._

_..........._

Often, when the end of your life was draws near, your mind flashes back to the happy (and not-so happy) moments that you have lived through. As far as Ziva could tell, it was probably night. The air was void of any noises to indicate the time, but it had been a while since she had had any visitors and the heavy silence forced her mind back in time.

She examined this particular memory, but there was nothing hidden between the lines. It had clearly been a subtle threat. Basically, she was going the same way as Ari had if she continued.

The longer she thought, the more her head hurt. In and out, in and out, in and out. Her breathing became shallow as she continued to reminisce, her head pounding and her whole body throbbing. How long had it been since she had been given water?

Her stomach turned, reminding her that she had not been fed for some time as well. Of course, dying of starvation was not such a bad thing at this point. Apparently they had a few less peaceful ways planned for her death.

Just as Ziva had allowed her eyelids to droop and her chin to fall to her chest while her mind wandered into unconsciousness, the echo of footsteps became louder in the hallway.

"Is the bitch asleep?" At least that is what she thought he said. The combination of a battered body and an obscure dialect meant the question could have been totally different. But what did it matter? All that mattered was that he was back. She would recognize his scratchy voice anywhere.

"No sir. I do not think so. She was muttering not too long ago." Had she been? Her mind was farther gone than she thought.

The latch shifted and she could hear his heavy breathing and smell him. Smoke, sweat, and some other vile smell accompanied him to her side.

"Ahh, you are breaking, finally? My dear one, you have lasted so long. There is no shame in giving in. Just think, all you have to do is tell me about the American agency, and I can end it for you." He cooed in her ear while pulling out the same rusty knife he had threatened her with before. It was clear what he meant by 'end it'.

"What are they to you anyway?" Ziva's voice was rough from lack of water and quiet from lack of strength.

"She speaks!" He laughed while circling her. Another common tactic. Make them feel surrounded; circle them to show they have no way out. Dominate the room. Show them who is in control.

She could almost hear her mentor coaching her through an interrogation and nearly let out a laugh herself. How ironic and shameful. She could barely remember her own name through the pain, yet the teachings of Mossad were prominent in her mind. Her father would be so proud.

"I am sure that penetrating the security system is not an option. Of course, liaison officer positions are a rarity. Plus, I doubt that any other agency aside from you filthy Jews would be permitted such free access." He chuckled, "How thoughtless these Americans are! I am sure you would agree that bringing you into their ranks was a mistake."

A pang of shame and pain struck Ziva's soul, yet she wasn't sure why. Her time at NCIS had been one of the most memorable things she had done in her life. Anyone thinking it a mistake was painful to consider.

"Yet here you sit," he had knelt down in front of her, his hands resting on her knees, "Continuing to protect them. "

He was clearly puzzled by her loyalty. Ziva remained silent. The only thing she knew to do at the moment.

Before she knew it, a sharp blow had been delivered to her head, snapping her neck back and surely breaking her nose. The hot pain pulsed in her head and she saw spots while warm blood gushed down her face and over her lips.

_Silent. Stay silent. Do not give him the satisfaction by reacting. _It took all her remaining strength to keep her thoughts straight, but she did it.

"I must admit, I am impressed." He had his knife again, spinning it effortlessly between his fingers.

With long, deep breaths, Ziva was able to focus again. Alertness was always important when you were involved in an interrogation, whichever side you happened to be on.

He now had the knife point at her wrist, and when Ziva looked down she noticed the raw skin that her bindings had chaffed against. They had even drawn blood in some places. With a swift swipe, the rough rope was gone from one hand, and the other followed a second later.

For a moment, she considered fighting, but that was quickly ruled out, seeing as she was in no condition for hand to hand combat. No matter how much training one has received, being smart with the battles you choose is crucial. This battle would not turn out well for her.

So instead, she remained exactly how she had been when she was tied up.

"What? No fight in you today?" He took hold of her hair and dragged her up to eye level.

Her silence strategy slipped as she let out a moan in reaction to the stabs of her broken knee. Recovering immediately, she tried to avoid putting any weight on it.

"Last chance. Take it while you can." His tone was now harsh, and she swallowed before continuing on in silence. "Very well, then. If you choose not to speak, we will have to convince you with force."

The stone wall was approaching her rapidly. Or was she moving towards it? Either way, her head smacked against it with a sickening thud before he dropped her to the floor. If she hadn't had a concussion before, she did now.

The world was swimming, and as the pain caught up to her, Ziva was trying to figure out how she ended up on the floor.

Just as she was gaining her senses, a foot caught her in her broken ribs, shattering whatever was left of them. Shock overtook her body, but she was sure she would not be spared the pain later on. A foot was suddenly over her broken knee. Without hesitation, she rolled away, instinct taking over.

"No, no, my love. Running is not an option." He was right, of course. The piercing pain in her chest reminded Ziva that rolling was not the wisest decision when there were broken shards of bone just waiting to puncture a lung.

Her knee would have to suffer if it meant she could breath. And suffer it did. The blinding pain again shot up her leg as he slowly pressed his weight against the knee cap.

As he released it just as slowly, the latch opened again. A voice called, but Ziva could not understand it even if she had wanted to. The pounding in her head, the piercing in her chest, the inability to breath properly, and the shooting pains in her leg were too much to ignore. Ziva spit out a mouthful of blood, seeing as it was still flowing freely from her nose.

In addition to her newly acquired injuries, the old ones that had just begun to heal were also flaring up. There was a flaming sensation on one side of her face, and a laceration on her forearm had reopened. Infection would be unavoidable.

_Silence. Do not scream. Do not talk. Remain silent. Do not scream. Do not talk. Silence._

It almost became a chant in her head as her attacker returned, a fresh cigarette gripped between his lips. One benefit was she could not smell the foul odor of smoke, thanks to her disabled nose.

"Had enough?" He blew a puff of smoke into her open mouth, and it burned her parched throat, leaving a nasty taste on her dry tongue.

Sticking the cigarette back into his mouth, he gripped her ankles roughly and dragged her back to the chair.

Silence was not an option anymore. Her scream reverberated off the bare walls as he jolted her broken bones.

His cold laugh followed and he was obviously pleased with his handiwork. He gripped her upper arms and heaved her back into the chair. This time, she was able to stifle her responding groan.

"Let's not forget these." He grabbed the ropes back off the floor and wrapped them around the chair's arms.

Ziva closed her good eye as he pulled the knot tight enough to nearly snap her wrist bone. Her chaffed skin burned and the sores reopened.

He ran his calloused, dirty finger over the open wounds lightly, drops of her blood coming away with it. He sniffed at it heavily before wiping it onto her already bloodied face, paying no regards to her swollen cheek.

After examining her for a few seconds with a hungry look in his eyes, he crouched down so that their faces were close enough to feel the others' breath.

"You really are a beautiful girl." He leaned in and pressed his lips first to her bad eye, leaving a dull sting, then the other one. Finally, he pressed his filthy, smoke layered lips against her own chapped, bleeding ones. "Ah, you even taste sweet."

He closed his eyes, licking his lips as if he could still taste her.

Ziva's insides curled as he placed his hands on either side of her head and roughly forced it back. Dizziness warped her vision of the dark ceiling at the rough treatment. He pressed his nose to her neck and inhaled deeply.

"Mmmmm….sweet." He repeated, but Ziva licked her lips to resist shouting the retort dancing on her tongue.

He finally stood up, releasing her aching head. Ziva's short breaths faltered as his hand trailed down her neck, stopping to trace her prominent collar bone.

"Such a waste." He murmured, "I can only assume Allah has placed such a beautiful Jew in my path to tempt me away from faith."

His unwelcome caresses halted abruptly as his hand formed a vice like grip upon her neck. Choking and spluttering, Ziva's unharmed eye shot open, wide with shock from the unexpected lack of air.

"I will not submit to your filth," he growled, tightening his hold on her windpipe, "Israeli slut." He removed his hand and took a long drag from his forgotten cigarette.

Ziva gasped, ignoring the sharp stabs in her ribs, as another wave of nausea overtook her. She did not have to remind herself to remain silent this time. Speaking was out of the question.

He let out a single, humorless chuckle as he watched her struggle. Flicking ash off the tip of his dwindling cigarette, he examined the end before putting it out against her neck.

The burning ash bore into her flesh, and she shook her head to try and remove the offending substance.

"Until next time, Mossad whore." With that, he turned on his heel and marched out.

Silence was looking to be a much less appealing strategy.

As soon as her moment of weakness occurred, Ziva saw his face. It was not how she preferred to remember him, but it was effective. His features distorted with pain and betrayal, his eyes reflecting back her own agony, Tony DiNozzo stared at her from her memory.

Devotedly silent she would remain.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, third chapter. Again, my thanks to those who review! And if any of you lost sleep over my forgotten message, good news. I remembered! I wanted to mention the song that I listen to while writing this story (for those who care, if any of you do) which is by Sigur Ros and is called Untitled #1. This chapter is a bit awkward, what with shifting scenes, which I hate doing so much. It is necessary, though, for the story's sake. So, yeah. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything recognizable.

…………………………………………………………………

Mossad Director Eli David paced behind his desk, letting out a regretful sigh. How he wished things were different! It was a weak thought, one that did not often occur to him, but now it was inevitable. They often told their agents "what's done is done; to dwell on the past is to make yourself weak, but to look to the future will prepare you to be strong".

But Director David had never imagined himself in this position. For maybe the twentieth time in the same day, he stopped his pacing to look at the picture of his children, pulling out a small object from his jacket pocket and toying with it in his fingers.

So long ago! So long since all his children had been happily together. The days when they did not question him, did not disrespect him, and were unwavering in their awe and loyalty. Eager, those little ones were to do his bidding and serve Israel.

His gaze landed on the youngest of the three. Tali, the loving, sweet, free thinking daughter. Her death had been a horrific personal tragedy. But he had moved on quite easily. Being part of Mossad meant not bringing in your own problems, and that is all Tali's death had been. A personal tragedy. She was much too delicate to be of any use to the agency, so her death was grieved and then forgotten.

Now, he turned his attention to his only son. Ari. The director's heart did not ache for the loss of his son, but rather hardened at the mere memory of his betrayal. A disappointment. Ari had been one of the most gifted agents, a true warrior. But no matter. Good agents could be found throughout Mossad.

Which brought his attention to his third and last child.

Ziva. He had always held a soft spot for his older daughter. It was rare to find a combination of steely emotional control and raw combat talent in a woman, yet his own daughter had provided that. A stellar fighter, a better aim, and a superbly gifted mind, she was everything Mossad asked for. Not to mention, the fact that she _was_a beautiful female had proven useful in many cases past.

"Ah, Ziva. When did you stray from me?" Director David thought back to his decision to place Ziva within an American agency affiliated with their military. Who better than her, who had proven that she could suppress emotion if it meant that the mission would be a success? In addition, they would not suspect her to be so well equipped.

"_I asked for Ari to be sent straight to Tel Aviv. Should I have specified that I didn't want him sent back in a body bag?" Eli demanded of Ziva._

"_It was unavoidable. I had no choice." Ziva's voice was hard, cold._

"_What made it so inevitable that you had to shoot him in the head?"_

"_He was going to compromise everything. Ari was much farther gone than we first anticipated." Ziva remained cool and collected._

_Eli David sighed, trying to avoid feeling any grief for his traitorous son._

"_Do not worry. I will forgive you, for there is a new opportunity for you to serve Mossad and Ari dying by your hand will only make it easier. Are you willing?"_

"_Of course. I will do anything required of me." Ziva replied, wondering how her killing her own brother could help with anything._

Eli David pulled his mind away from that long ago conversation. Yes, that situation had worked out much better than he had anticipated. Placing one of his best officers in the heart of an American Agency, under the lead of an agent who had placed the utmost trust in said officer.

But, even the best sometimes fall into a trap. That trap just happened to be Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and his team of overly enthusiastic and undisciplined investigators.

A short rap on the door interrupted Eli David's thoughts, and he swiftly composed himself, slipping the object that had occupied his fingers back in his pocket. No need to raise unwanted suspicions.

"Enter."

"Director, you have a call from Officer Levin."

As the messenger promptly slipped back out and closed the door, Director David picked up his receiver.

"Speak, Anah." He ordered.

"She remains silent." Anah replied.

Eli's heart fell slightly, but spoke as if he were indifferent, "Do they suspect you?"

"No, sir. I have accomplished anonymity." Anah informed.

"Good. If she shows any sign of breaking, initiate the extraction. If not, then leave as soon as she is disposed of. I will not waste the lives of loyal Mossad officers if she does not prove her own loyalty." After receiving confirmation that he understood his orders, David hung up.

Sitting down, he once again pulled out the object that had remained with him since its delivery.

"My daughter, why do you do this to me?" Director David ran his finger over the little golden Star of David necklace, one he knew his eldest daughter had been so fond of, before placing it into a desk drawer.

NCIS was clearly where her devotion lay.

…………………………

Ziva's head lolled back as she had no strength left to hold it up. He pressed another cigarette into her neck, letting it hiss as it burned her skin.

But her strength was not even enough to manage a response.

"Look at me!" he commanded, grabbing her face and lifting it so that he could see the pain twist her mangled features.

_Silence._ Her mind, too, had been drained of strength as the constant berating had worn down her resolve. But she knew that one word, had repeated it enough so that it was engrained into her conscience.

_Silence._

"Have you nothing to say, you filthy bitch?" Ziva was not even strong enough to recognize his new strategy. A constant flow of insults accompanied by the occasional kick or other small pain, would contrast with the quiet and controlled environment of previous episodes enough to take the captive by surprise.

When the captive was weak enough, this surprise would shake their confidence in whatever had kept them from talking before, resulting in them telling whatever was asked of them.

_Silence,_was all she could manage to think, though.

"Still not talking?" An unfamiliar voice asked from the open doorway.

Her interrogator cursed at the intruder in Arabic before turning his attention back to her.

She could see his face, blurred and menacing, through her untouched eye. The image registered only slightly in her head, which had suffered more damaging blows in the current session.

Pain did not affect her so much anymore. Ziva had already convinced herself that she was not getting out of here. How proud her father would be to know that she had no hope left to keep her caring what they did with her.

She was a breathing corpse, if you could even call her that. A mangled, beaten, barely breathing corpse was more accurate. And still he was not finished.

There was more murmuring from the doorway, and Ziva almost thought she heard a voice familiar to her in a different way. Could she possibly be…?

No. Hallucinations were common when under torture. The familiarity left the new voice just as that one speck of hope flitted out of her reach.

She was not being rescued. Not by Mossad, who had undoubtedly known that she had embarked on a suicide mission. Not by NCIS, who had no idea what was even going on. Not by loved ones, because there were no such thing as that in Ziva's life.

Another wave of despair washed over her, crushing nearly all her will to live. Because, even if in an alternate universe she was rescued, who did she have to return to? Surely she would not be permitted to return to DC, the only place she had any desire whatsoever to see again.

The now unfamiliar voice drifted off farther and she felt her interrogator take a handful of her hair and rip her head back again.

"Mossad?" he questioned.

Ziva opened her mouth to speak, but realized she was unable to. Her throat was much too dry.

Realizing the problem, he turned and retrieved his own water bottle and squirted some into her open mouth. It was warm and tasted off, but it felt wonderful as it ran down into her empty stomach.

"What about it?" she managed to croak, swallowing to try and salvage any comfort from her newly moist tongue.

"Tell me all you know."

Surprised by this new line of questioning, Ziva pondered the situation. Should she share what she knew about an agency that had not attempted to retrieve her, though they knew where she was?

_No. _Her immediate thought was that she was going to die anyway. Why betray Mossad when it probably wouldn't harm them anyway?

_Silence. _She would just stick to her keyword.

When it was apparent she had no intention of responding, he started the torture cycle all over again.

……………………………..

"_That file…the one I didn't read, there are people going to quite some lengths to know what is in it." __Gibbs told Vance as the director poured himself a drink._

_The fading day cast a dim light in the office, making it difficult to gauge any reaction._

"_Glad you did your homework, Gibbs. __Although I don't particularly remember giving you the assignment of checking up on my old acquaintances." __Leon turned to face his senior agent, handing him a glass._

"_Acquaintances? __Is that what you would call them?" __Gibbs downed his drink, setting the empty glass back in its place._

"_Let's just say my background is interesting to a lot of people. __Looks as if a few of them have started to actively try to find that background." __Leon moved to sit behind his desk._

"_I gotta say, they're not the only ones interested." __He responded, turning to leave._

"_And I am sure you are, too." __Leon said as the door clicked shut behind Gibbs._

Gibbs replayed the week old conversation in his head for the thousandth time. Something was wrong with the picture. Really wrong, his gut told him.

Gibbs turned his thoughts away from the troubling matter as he walked to his desk.

"Hey, Boss. We got anything today?"

"Nope." Gibbs answered McGee shortly as he sat at his desk, ready to complete the next round of paperwork.

They had not worked a case in a few days, leaving all three of them to catch up on the dreaded desk work. This had not been something Gibbs had insisted on in the past. McGee looked around the nearly empty squad room, his heart heavy.

The elevator doors opened and Tony stepped out, coffee in the arm not constricted by a sling. A hollow smile and sad eyes greeted McGee as he set down his stuff at his desk.

The fact that Gibbs' had refrained from reprimanding him for lateness was telling of the times. Things weren't the same. They hadn't been since…but McGee couldn't think the rest of that sentence. All of them had avoided mentioning….her.

"Mornin', Probie. Enjoying the sunshine?" Tony, now a ghost of his old light hearted self, sauntered over to his coworker's desk.

"Well, seeing as how I am stuck at a desk writing up reports, it's a little hard to be enjoying the nice weather, Tony." McGee responded. It was always best to pretend everything _was_still normal, even when it wasn't.

Tony chuckled humorlessly, "Guess I should get to those then."

As his agents became silent, dutifully tapping at their keyboards, Gibbs paused, thinking back to why they were where they were.

He pulled out the bottom drawer and looked at the files of two very able agents. Vance had not given him a time limit, but Gibbs knew that a decision would have to be made soon. The files sat there taunting him, mocking his guilt for a situation that was undoubtedly his fault.

Sighing, he closed the drawer. Later. He would decide later. Glancing over at the empty desk that was always there to remind them of their loss, he knew 'later' was a long ways away.

The shrill ring of his cell phone cut through the thick silence, and Gibbs broke out of his depressed reverie.

"Gibbs." He answered, relieved to hear that his voice was not choked up, as he thought it would be.

"Agent Gibbs? I am calling you from Tel Aviv. Unfortunately, I have some regrettable news for you."

Gibbs' insides turned to ice as the Mossad Officer defied orders and relayed a message he had been forbidden to deliver.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, so before you read this, just wanted to say that I do not like this chapter. No matter how much I tinkered, changed, or added, it just seemed to get worse. Forgive me and bear through it as it has quite a bit of information. Hope you like it more than I do!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything affiliated.

……………………………_.._

"_Gibbs. __Something is off. __I just don't know what it is." __Ziva whispered. __It was just her and her boss in the unused conference room, but she still felt like they were listening._

"_With Mossad?" Gibbs asked, confused by how uncomfortable Ziva looked._

"_Yes…mostly with my father." Ziva muttered to herself in Hebrew before looking back into the questioning blue eyes, "Do you trust me, Gibbs?"_

"_With my life." He stated simply and honestly._

"_I-I need to do something. __I feel obligated to…" she trailed off, and a look of understanding came across his face._

"_I understand. __You do what you have to." __He assured her, but she still looked hesitant._

"_He has to think it was your decision. __He can't know that I spoke with you."_

"_We'll work something out." __Gibbs watched as she struggled with words._

"_Just remember, Gibbs. __I have been completely honest with you, about everything. __Whatever you hear-"_

"_No matter what they say, Ziva", He interrupted, "I will always trust you. __And I will expect you back at NCIS as soon as you are through here."_

"_Thank you." She said. __With a swift kiss on her cheek, he walked out and left her to ponder her decision to stay behind._

……………………

Gibbs' memory of that conversation was as clear as if it had just happened. How he wished he had insisted that she return with them. He knew it would be dangerous, yet he still had let her stay.

Of course, he wouldn't have been able to force her back with them if she really had wanted to stay, but why hadn't he even checked up on her? Why did he not call her and make sure that everything was ok?

A Mossad officer investigating the agency's motives, particularly the motives of the director himself, was practically suicide. Even if you happened to be his daughter. After his encounter with Eli David, Gibbs was convinced it applied _especially_if you were his daughter.

But kicking himself over a mistake already done would not get Ziva out alive. He had to solve the problem now instead of feeling guilty for not preventing it.

Gibbs marched into Leon Vance's office to find him waiting at his desk.

"Agent Gibbs. I've been wondering when you would come to see me." He watched as his agent stood behind the conference table.

"You know, Leon?" He asked shortly.

"Director David just informed me that a Mossad operation went terribly wrong. There were casualties. Presumably no survivors. Nothing we can do."

"Don't give me that crap. She is alive."

"How can you be sure of this, Gibbs?" Vance stood from his chair and strode around to stand in front of his desk. "Are you absolutely certain she is alive?"

"Yes, and don't ask me how I know, I just do." Gibbs' voice began to rise, "We have to get her out."

Vance laughed dryly, "Do you know what you are asking of me? Sending in American Marines to save someone who isn't even a citizen?"

"She served this country and agency well, put her life on the line, and even took her brother's. I am not going to leave her there." Gibbs took a few steps around so that he was face to face with the director.

"I have already told you-"

"Yeah, I know what Eli David told you." Gibbs cut him off, "But I also know Ziva, much better than you. I know that her loyalty lies with me. Now, it's my turn to return the favor."

"If you think you are going to Somalia, you've lost your mind." Vance replied.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"I'm sorry," he said, and it seemed he meant it, "but my hands are tied."

"What if I told you," Gibbs' voice lowered and he moved closer to his boss, "that there are American soldiers in that cell as well?"

"You can't be sure of that. Even then, it's a long shot and risky as hell."

"What if I told you I _can_be sure of that?" Gibbs continued.

"Again, it's a big risk. Not many would advise taking it." Vance seemed not to budge.

Gibbs knew he would have to come at a different angle, "It is a terrorist cell, Leon. Isn't that what this war is all about? And they are holding American prisoners."

"That is not NCIS's problem."

"It is when one of their agents is being held captive."

"Look, I'll do my best. I just can't promise anything." Vance went back to his desk to get to work on all the phone calls he knew he would be making.

Gibbs went back to the squad room, calling McGee and DiNozzo's attention.

"What's up, boss?" Tony looked up.

"Ziva." That one word he uttered got both of them fully attentive.

"What about her?" McGee asked.

Gibbs sighed, before telling them exactly what he had been told. The looks on their faces made the situation even harder to stomach. Tony looked as if her were about to collapse and McGee was looking down at his interlaced fingers, shoulders slumped.

"Who called?" McGee asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Hadar did. He insists that he only ever had Ziva's best interests at heart. Of course, we are in no position to question that now. Apparently, the director of Mossad had an idea what would become of her when he sent her on this mission. They have an officer under cover inside the cell, but extraction was deemed too risky. As soon as he was ordered to pull out, Hadar called us." Gibbs knew that they realized "pull out" meant "leave Ziva to die".

"Well, what can we do?" McGee asked, wanting so badly to be able to help his friend. But how could they?

"Vance is working on it. There is a possibility that American soldiers are also being held prisoner." Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of weakness showing through.

"Do we know the location?" McGee prompted, and Gibbs wordlessly handed him a small scrap of paper, "Okay, I'll run this down to Abby, and then-" McGee continued before being cut off by Gibbs.

"No, McGee. We are not telling Abby. She is already having trouble dealing with this." Gibbs took a collecting breath and turned back to his agent, "Can you do anything with it?"

"Certainly, it might just take me a little longer."

"Ziva doesn't have a little longer! Get it done." Gibbs now turned to Tony, who hadn't said a word since hearing the news. "Hey! Get to work."

Tony stiffly turned to his computer, not quite sure what he was supposed to be working on.

"Gibbs." Vance called from his office door, and Gibbs took one last look at his senior field agent's blank face.

"Get some fresh air, DiNozzo." He muttered as he passed his desk.

"We got the okay." Vance informed him as he walked into the office. "But it might take a while. These things don't happen overnight."

"And what if she is dead by then? What do we do?" Gibbs demanded, his hands on the desk.

"We follow protocol, no matter who is involved. You better start thinking straight, before someone else gets hurt." The reprimand didn't sound like one, but it sent the same message.

"What can I do?" Gibbs asked in a matter of fact tone.

"Wait. There isn't much else we can do." Vance fingered the tape he had in his hand as Gibbs headed for the door. Sighing, he made the decision to show him. "Jethro."

"Yeah?" he turned around, his face like stone.

"I wasn't going to show you this, but I think it would be wrong not to." He held out the small tape and let him take it.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked, although is gut told him exactly what it was.

"A video that was sent to the director of Mossad. He sent me a copy." Vance hesitated before continuing, "I watched it, and it isn't pretty. Take precaution, maybe it is best if no one sees, but I thought you should have the option."

Gibbs left without another word.

"MTAC." Tony heard his boss call and jumped up immediately.

They hurried to follow him as he shooed out a couple of technicians and threw something at McGee.

"Put that in." He commanded.

Surprised and apprehensive, all three of them turned to the screen as it flickered to life.

What they saw made it feel as though they had been punched in the stomach. McGee turned away and Gibbs put his face in his hands, both unable to continue watching.

But Tony couldn't tear his eyes away from the image of a beaten and broken Ziva sitting in the middle of a filthy little cell. A man was circling her, twirling a blade in his fingers and spitting out demands.

Every time he touched her, Tony felt a fiery anger, both at the terrorist for daring to lay a hand on her and at himself for giving the filthy bastard the opportunity.

…………………………..

"Get up!" he commanded before swinging his boot into her face.

When her body was too weak to comply, Ziva felt him grab hold of her neck and drag her up himself. Pain was all she knew. It was blinding, fierce, and everlasting. It was everywhere, from the top of her head into the tips of her fingers, down her legs and to the ends of her toes. Pain. It overtook her mind, as he slammed her back into the wall.

She tried to turn away from his putrid breath, but she couldn't even bring herself to do that. The slightest movement only magnified the nausea.

He pulled out the knife again and jabbed it into her flesh twice. Wounds shallow enough not to kill, but deep enough to make her splutter for breath.

"That's it," he laughed, "Scream for me."

He wore a manic look, almost as if he were possessed. He made her look into his face, made her scream, and he reveled in the sound of her moans.

Finally, he let her slide down to the floor in a heap, where she curled herself into the least painful position. Her hair formed a curtain around her unrecognizable face, providing her with the allusion of separation.

But he wouldn't have that.

"Come here, little whore." He took hold of her wrist again and dragged her to the corner. "Come over here to where the cameras can't see us."

Mild fear rippled through her. Everything he had done had been completely for the sake of causing pain. Of course, he gained pleasure from her reactions, but he had refrained, as he said he would, from one particular tactic. Ziva had been grateful for that one shred of a positive, but now, by the sounds of it, he was going to take that away from her, too.

Indeed, she felt the knife at the collar of her shirt, but he just traced the skin there with the end, leaving dull red scratches.

"So beautiful. So tempting." He whispered, pushing her hair away from her face almost gently, and letting his hand roam down her sides.

His movements were rough as he allowed himself to grope her, pressing her against the wall to the point of pain. She almost cried out a plea as she could feel him pressed against her, pinning her down so she had no options.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the throat, dragging her to a standing position and pressing his knee into the bruised flesh of her upper thigh. She could not move. She could not scream. There was nothing she could do to prevent what was happening.

"You spawn of evil." He spat, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to her sides, stopping he weak attempts to shove him away. "You still have some fight in you, eh? That should make this fun."

The evil gleam in his eye reminded her that there would be no fun whatsoever in it for her. Pain, more pain was coming. A different type, though. Shame overcame her, and she yelped as his hands found their way under the hem of her shirt.

A sharp rap on the door and a harshly yelled phrase in Arabic made her assaulter turn away. Quickly taking the opportunity before she could think about it, Ziva gathered every last ounce of all her remaining strength and threw her weight into a punch.

It connected with a satisfying crunch. Her assailant recoiled, holding his nose in surprise. It had not been strong enough to bring about blood, but she smirked as he looked at her with wide, watering eyes.

Slumping to the floor, she heard him shouting, approaching her, angered at her unexpected attack.

There was more yelling from the doorway before he reached her, and he stopped a few feet away from where she sat.

"I am not through with you, you dirty slut." With that, he left her to herself.

Ziva grinned to herself and the subsequent agony could not stop her from smiling. There was not enough strength left in her muscles to fight back again, not enough will left in her heart to keep her alive for much longer, and not enough spirit left unbroken to continue to examine their motives, but there was still enough pride in her soul to keep him from violating her in the most horrific way.

For that, Ziva smiled.

……………………………………….

One last A/N! After reading it over, I think it's the dialogue that I can't stand. Any suggestions? Would really appreciate some feedback/criticism on this chapter particularly! Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I know this is a little short, but I am running into some difficulties writing this now. Ziva is very complex (to write), and instead of violence in this chapter, it is a little more of a character exploration.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

……………………………………

"I need to get over there!" Gibbs demanded, stepping forward so that he was face to face with Vance.

A rescue team had been assembled to activate on the terrorist cell that supposedly held Ziva, along with other American soldiers, but to Gibbs' disappointment, he was not included on that team.

"Gibbs, we are already sticking out our necks here. Let's not push our luck." He informed the outraged man in front of him.

"I would only be risking my own skin. Look, I saw that video. When she gets out of there…who knows what is going through her mind, or what will. She is a trained Mossad agent and has been taught to kill first and skip the questions. If Ziva doesn't see a familiar face, it will be putting our soldiers at further risk, risks that we can avoid." Gibbs could tell that his reasoning had convinced Vance somewhat, but still sensed some hesitancy.

"If you saw the tape, then you know she is in no condition to pose as any risk." Vance hesitated before continuing, "And this is all assuming she is still alive. We have to be prepared to…to accept whatever the outcome of this is."

Gibbs moved even closer, his voice lowering, "Ziva is alive. Trust me on that one." The urgency shone in his eyes, and Vance couldn't tell if Gibbs truly believed what he said or if it was a coping mechanism to keep hoping she was alive.

Taking a deep breath, Vance made his decision. "Fine. You're on the first flight out of here. There is a camp a small distance south of the terrorist cell. You can wait there where she will be transported for immediate medical attention. Her father will probably want her back in Tel Aviv as soon as she is stable enough-"

"If Eli David wanted his daughter alive in Tel Aviv, he never would have sent her on that mission in the first place. Ziva stays with me."

"Gibbs, you know that I-"Vance started before being interrupted again.

"Leon, she is my agent. He won't put up a big fight for her, believe me."

"Alright then. Let's get her out before we start arguments over where she goes, maybe even get her opinion on the matter." Vance turned to get behind his desk before saying, "Follow the rules, Gibbs."

Tony waited anxiously in the squad room, pacing and glaring at anyone who dared to stare at him for too long.

Why was Gibbs in there for such a long time? Had they heard something new? Were they going to be able to go get her? Vance had looked optimistic when he had called in the senior NCIS agent, or was that just Tony's hopeful thinking playing tricks on him?

McGee was tapping at his computer obnoxiously, Ducky was flipping through a magazine he had found on Gibbs' desk, and Abby was pacing back and forth while wringing her hands, making worried noises every so often. It had been too much to keep from her, but she still had no clue about the video tape. All of them had decided that it wasn't necessary for anyone but the three of them to have to watch that. It had gotten progressively brutal until McGee had turned it off.

Abby and Ducky had no reason to watch that.

Finally, Gibbs entered, his face set and walking purposefully to his desk.

"Well, Jethro?" Ducky was the first to make an inquiry, moving out of the way for Gibbs to gather his things.

"I'm going to Somalia." He stated simply as they all stopped what they were doing to find out if they were getting her back.

"Well, I'm going too then, boss." Tony moved to get his own belongings.

"No, DiNozzo, you're not." Tony halted, shocked, as he looked over to where Gibbs was zipping up a backpack.

"What? Yes, I am." Tony's voice rose slightly as all eyes went to him.

"Who gave you the authority to say where you go and don't go, DiNozzo?" Gibbs had shouldered his bag and grabbed his coffee before making his way to the elevator.

"Gibbs!" Abby ran forward, ignoring the tense atmosphere as Tony followed his boss. Abby wrapped him in a hug, reminding him to bring everyone home safely.

"I will, Abby." He reassured her before turning his attention back to his distraught agent.

"Look. It is my fault, at least partially, that Ziva is even there in the first place, and don't try to tell me otherwise. She is my partner, someone I have worked with for years now, someone I trust, and someone who used to trust me. It is my obligation to do whatever I can to help her, because that is what partners do. I don't care how she feels about me, because nothing she does or says can change the way I feel about her. So I am getting on that plane, whether I have permission or not, and you know that is exactly what you would do too, Gibbs." Tony stared directly into his boss' eyes as he firmly listed all the reasons he _had_ to go with.

Gibbs looked hard into DiNozzo's eyes, knowing exactly how he was feeling. And Gibbs knew exactly what it felt like to have a partner of yours die in the line of duty and to know you weren't there to stop it.

"Get your stuff." He whispered after a few seconds of contemplating. He glanced up to where Vance was watching, an exasperated expression on his face. Gibbs shrugged as he and Tony entered the elevator, both of them with only one mission in mind.

Get Ziva back home alive.

……………..

How much longer? How much longer would she be stuck here, in this room, with this pain, at the hands of these monsters?

It was almost exhausting, waiting for death to claim you. Ziva had gotten past the initial denial after knowing she was going to die, and she was past the fear that followed soon after. But the waiting, the submissive stage, had to be the worst.

Why couldn't they just finish her off? She knew they were going to soon. The visits had become shorter, less intense, and with longer intervals separating them.

Her captors were getting bored, waiting for her to give up information she never would give. Of course, she had gotten a nice beating for her little trick the last time, but since then the interrogations had been lessening. And he had not tried to do anything other than break body physically.

Thanks to the extra time without them aggravating her wounds, some of them began to heal. There was less fresh pain, but the healed injuries still left a dull ache behind. Nothing Ziva couldn't manage. And it didn't matter that her bones were setting incorrectly, considering she was about to die and all.

It was probably one of only a couple of comforts, her healing bones. The other was that she had succeeded, whatever the ending may look like. Despite her warnings that the human body could only endure so much torture, she had not uttered a single word that they demanded.

She had remained loyal, something that had been instilled in her since childhood. Ziva cherished that fact as one of the few real accomplishments she could be proud of in her lifetime.

By reexamining her years, she had found few things to truly be proud of. The ending of her life was now becoming one of those few.

But there was nothing she could do other than protect her family. What she wouldn't give for just a couple extra moments with them! To tell Gibbs how he had treated her more like a daughter than her own father ever had; to tell Abby how much she enjoyed her enthusiasm and affection, even when it seemed like it annoyed her; to tell McGee that he was a good agent and a better gentleman; to tell Ducky that she appreciated his constant support and helpful chats more than he could know; and even to tell Palmer…well, she would wish Jimmy luck in his future career and to never lose his eagerness to learn.

That left Tony. A couple of minutes would never be enough for Ziva to tell him everything she needed to say. But sitting here, she could not think of how she would start, the words she would say, or exactly how long she would need to express it all.

Ziva shook her head slightly, forcing her to think of something else. Her failures were always occupying, so she turned to them.

All through her life, Ziva had carried around a mental list of all the things she should do and all the things she would not.

How foolish she had been, thinking any person capable of committing to such a structured and logical life. For one, Ziva had done many things that she had promised herself she wouldn't.

Falling in love. This one she had broken multiple times, first with Roy, then Rivkin, and now, even though it was a different and more comfortable love, with Tony. She, of course, loved all of them, but there was something about Tony that made her feel more apt to making mistakes around him.

She quickly moved onto the next broken promise to avoid the torment that thinking of her teammates would bring. Being captured alive. This was one that she had sworn to herself she would _never_allow. Yet here she sat. How had it happened? She wasn't sure. Everything was a blur, but one thing stood out clear. She hadn't been ready to die. No, she had not wanted to leave the world knowing Tony thought she didn't trust him or care for him. She would live, if only for a few extra seconds, to take back all the hurtful things she had done.

Again, the appearance of Tony made her move on. Submitting to emotional pull. This one related to the last one, in a way. Ziva had always found people who succumbed to their heart's desires rather than their mind's logic to be weak. Never had she envisioned herself breaking a self-imposed rule just because her emotions said otherwise. That was before she experienced such strong emotions, something that was completely unfamiliar to her.

As she thought of her connection with her old partner again, she wondered why all the rules she had broken, she reasoned her actions by somehow including Tony.

So, the pain that his memory brought her was unavoidable, and Ziva sat there to wallow in her regrets, knowing that it was very unlikely she would get a second chance. How foolish she had been to waste the first one with such childish grief!

Little did she know that a second chance was something she was just about to get.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just want to say thank you to all my reviewers! I do try to reply, but I am a very scatterbrained person and can barely get these chapters up in a timely manner, but I read and appreciate every single review! So, please, if you have a minute to spare, go ahead and review, whether you liked it or not. I do also try to improve with constructive criticism and consider all suggestions, so if you have any of those two things, you can leave that, too! Anyway, hope you like this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS

............................................................................................................

Ziva could feel her strength building back up slowly. Her mind still was slightly fuzzy, but she could live with that. Her knee still throbbed if she moved it the wrong way, but as long as she was conscious of her movements she could almost pretend to be comfortable.

Ziva had no way to keep track of time, but she knew it had been a significant while since her last interrogation. This was both a blessing and a curse. It seemed that they had not only forgotten to continue with the beatings, but as long as they weren't counting on her to talk, she received hardly any food or water.

This did weaken her further, but it was of little matter. Dying of starvation was a blessing when she thought of what could have been done to her. When Ziva thought of dying, she felt different reactions. Ending the misery was very appealing, but getting out of here was even more so. How long could she hold on? And how long would she have to wait? Forever?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked. Tensing, Ziva closed her eyes (her injured eye was able to open ever so slightly now) and braced herself for whatever was coming. They could not know that she was feeling relatively stronger.

But instead of the kicking, punching, beating, and stabbing that she had come to expect, her visitor grabbed her chin firmly, tipping her head back.

"Open." He whispered the command. Did she know that voice?

Knowing that compliance was probably best at this point, Ziva opened her mouth. He poured water into her dry throat, and she spluttered a little bit in surprise before drinking it readily.

He stopped too soon and grabbed something out of his pocket. Ziva still had refrained from looking at his face. They hadn't taken kindly to that in the past.

Stifling her continued shock, he placed a piece of bread at her lips, waiting for her to eat it. Immediately, Ziva's instincts kicked in. Poison? Glass pieces? Another form of sinister torture that she was unfamiliar with?

"Eat it." His voice was, again, low and husky. But something was wrong. He was speaking to her in English, for one, and even though his accent was the same as the others, something was off.

He leaned down until they were face to face and Ziva studied his face. There was something she recognized about him, almost as if she had seen him in passing. But where? Who? When?

"Ziva," he addressed her, and her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Those concussions were starting to catch up with her, "Eat it."

And she did. Gingerly taking the bread, she at it hungrily. Once she was done, she waited. There was no immediate effect, but slow acting poison was always a possibility.

No, terrorists were not often very patient. If he wanted to kill her, he would do it quickly and efficiently. Which is why she was surprised she was still alive.

He left soon after, and Ziva watched him hesitate at the door before shutting it with a thud.

………..

"Tony," Gibbs looked to where he sat, fidgeting anxiously.

"Yeah, boss?" His response was distracted, quiet.

"We're landing soon. You got your stuff together?"

Tony patted the duffel where it had sat all journey, untouched.

Gibbs sighed, hoping that when they were flying back home, the last member of his team would be going with them. Her absence was taking a severe toll on all of them, leaving a void that could not be filled.

He had been through this before, and he refused to go through it again. Losing a piece of your family was not something he would allow to happen again.

As the wheels touched down, and they grabbed their belongings, Gibbs halted Tony before they left the aircraft.

Lowering his voice, Gibbs started to say something he had been avoiding but that he felt was necessary.

"DiNozzo," he hesitated before continuing, "When we get Ziva back, there are a few things you need to be aware of. First off, I have known people who have come home from being captured. They usually aren't…the same. She probably won't want to talk about any of it. She will probably be very wary of everyone, including us. We can't predict any of her reactions, so be careful. We may not be bringing back the Ziva David we know."

Tony's expression remained blank and calm throughout his whole speech, and when he was finished, he responded, "I don't care which Ziva David comes out of there, I just want her back."

Gibbs nodded, understanding the sentiment. He would not allow him to think of the alternative…if she didn't happen to still be alive.

As soon as they arrived at the camp, Gibbs and Tony got briefed on the way the mission was planned. Daniel Grey was leading the rescue, and he and Gibbs were apparently acquainted from before.

"Look, Jethro, I know you want to accompany us, but-" Grey began before Gibbs cut him off.

"I don't just want to accompany you, I am accompanying you. That's the whole reason I am here. Trust me; you don't want to spook Officer David, even if she is injured. There will be less of a chance if she recognizes someone." Gibbs watched as Grey struggled for words. He always had been too indulgent when asked of things, which is specifically why Gibbs had requested him.

As soon as Grey agreed that Gibbs could wait at the helicopter, Tony opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't even think of asking, DiNozzo, you're not going." Gibbs turned away before Tony argued back.

Tony watched, with a feeling of uneasiness, as they gathered together the team, gave final instructions, gathered their gear, and left the camp. Gibbs kept an eye on him just in case he tried to sneak his way in. And Tony had to admit he thought about being a stowaway. But it would mean Ziva had to wait longer, and he didn't want that.

So Tony remained on the sidelines as they took off, praying to God they had one more with them when they returned.

………………

Ziva hummed to herself, trying to keep her sanity. There was nothing for her to think about anymore, nothing for her to question, no one for her to talk to, and hardly any hope left to preserve her mind.

So she hummed a tune that was nostalgically familiar. She wasn't quite sure where she had heard it before, but it calmed her, almost as if it were a childhood lullaby. For all she could remember, that's what it could have been.

The room was dim, even though something told Ziva it was daytime, and there was utter silence other than the occasional scraping of some rodent in the corner. Ziva's tune faltered and she stopped to catch her breath. Everything took so much energy.

Even though she was flirting with death, Ziva's instincts were still with her, and she felt prompted to take a quick scan of her surroundings. There was still nothing to see, but there seemed to be a bit of a disturbance outside of the walls.

The voices were far off, and the language a little garbled, but there was something wrong with the tone. Panic? Urgency? Or maybe just a quick backgammon game getting the guards excited? Ziva closed her eyes…what if…?

No, she had already allowed herself to hope enough. It probably w as just something insignificant causing them to raise their voices. But, once again, Ziva's mind wandered back to her old guidelines. One of the rules left unbroken was to never go down without a fight. As she resolved herself back into a useless hope, Ziva already found herself working at the bindings.

They had tied them somewhat loosely the last time, seeing as she had been too weak to hold her own head up. That would reduce the amount of additional pain she would have to inflict on herself. Evasion and escape were two of the courses she had excelled in at Mossad. Of course, there were few that she hadn't done well in.

As Ziva twisted her wrist to the right just enough, a small grunt escaped her as the rough rope bit into her skin, drawing blood. If she could just….a little to the left and the rope was a centimeter higher.

But the rope wasn't loose enough to get around the palm of her hand. Ziva closed her eyes, drew in a quick breath, and quickly dislocated her thumb with a pop. Despite the familiar pain (she had used this technique many times before), it only took her a few more minutes before her left hand was free.

Ziva snapped her thumb back before wiping away the blood running down her arm from the raw skin on her wrist. Making quick work of the right bindings, Ziva was free. From the sounds of their undistinguishable voices, they were a little unorganized right now. It would be best to strike immediately.

But Ziva hesitated before getting up. It was sure death. Suicide. Even though all the training, all her instincts, all her fellow Mossad officers said that she probably would not live long in the job, death seemed less inviting when it was staring you in the face.

She didn't want to die she realized, as her human instincts were made more prominent. But death was inevitable, she reasoned with herself. It was going to happen, whether it be now or in fifty years. And did she really want to get old? And, realistically, death would probably come in about three days if it didn't happen now.

And she would _not_ die on those bastards' terms. They already decided when she would eat, when she was released to use the bathroom (a rare luxury they had granted her), and when she was going to pass out from pain. They would not decide when or how she died.

But just as she had started to get up on her shaky legs, there was a much louder, closer commotion.

And she understood the shouting as it quickly approached her.

"Get her, get her!"

"The others? Were they taken care of?"

"Yes, she is the last. Kill her, there has been a breach!"

The footsteps pounded towards her and the spark of hope that had provoked her to free herself was now a flame of determination.

Ziva stood, ignoring the protesting injuries, and readied herself in front of the door.

She _would _get out alive, or die trying.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Alright, a quick warning. I have no knowledge of military operations or terrorist cells or anything that you are about to read. So forgive me and just go along with it. Anyway, hope you like!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS.

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Gibbs paced around the helicopter that had brought them over the short journey, the dusty ground unsettling. This was as far as he had been permitted, even though the targeted location was not even within eyesight. He knew he should consider himself lucky that he was even this close to his lost team member, but it was hard to look at it that way when he knew she was just around the corner. Not only was she so close, but she needed help.

Ziva was not someone you often thought of as "vulnerable", but that was exactly how she had looked. Just the thought of the broken figure brought a whirlwind of emotions. Anxiety, for the outcome of Ziva's immediate future; intense anger at the people who did that to her; worry for the impact her condition would have on everyone; and, finally, guilt, at allowing her to stay in Israel when he knew she would embark on a perilous mission.

But she would make it. He would see her soon. They were going to get her. He would not lose her. He would not lose another beloved agent. He would bring her home. He was going to see Ziva again.

As Gibbs continued to reassure himself, the faint , piercing sounds of gunshots cut through the air.

………………

Gunshots. Shouting. Footsteps. Breathing.

Where were the gunshots? Ziva knew they were outside. Who was shouting? It was just outside the cell door. Footsteps were pounding in her direction rapidly. She sucked in another deep, sharp breath that stabbed at her insides, but she needed to have her lungs filled if she was going to get out of here.

Ziva closed her eyes as the lock shifted, forcing her to shiver at the sound for the last time. The door slammed open and, without thinking, she sprung into action, letting her instincts control her rapid movements.

There was only one of them, and he held a simple handgun. Easily taken care of.

Ziva swung her good leg at the unsuspecting man, slamming into his gun hand and flinging the gun to the dark recesses of the room. He spun around, eyes alit with surprise, before Ziva placed a swift jab to his throat, cutting off his airway and preventing him from alerting the others.

Her assailant gasped before recovering and attempting to fight back. Before he could place her in a hold, she had him on the ground, arms straining behind his back. Even though Ziva did not recognize him, she pulled the knife out of his waist and slit his throat.

She could not resist causing him a fraction of the suffering she had been put through. He gurgled softly before falling limp in death.

He had been the easiest she would encounter because of the surprise factor, but her body was still stiff and aching. Ziva did not waste time in locating the gun and stepping over the corpse into the deserted hallway.

The silence was daunting as she moved to the other end of the long room, keeping her head on a swivel. The sounds of commotion were still around, but it seemed that they had moved to the outer edges of the cell.

The only sounds accompanying Ziva as she moved through the next tunnel were her gravelly footsteps and heavy breathing.

But the shouting was getting louder and Ziva could only pick out a few words from the panicked, rushed Arabic.

"-Americans-surprise-must-"

"No-we-call-west-"

Even though it was broken sentences, Ziva's heart raced. They were panicking because American's were here, American's who had taken them by surprise. They were just beyond the wall, and Ziva was going to go against her training and just try to escape without detection.

Hope was inevitable now. There were soldiers here, now, that she had to find. She had to get home. But the home she picture was not Tel Aviv or with her father.

Ziva's musings were interrupted as the voices came closer to her. Taking another stabbing breath, Ziva pressed herself into the wall, hoping the dingy darkness would mask her presence long enough to attain as much surprise as possible.

Escape. Incapacitate and then escape. Shoot to kill and then escape. Accomplish efficiency and then escape.

Ziva only had a few seconds to prepare her battered body before she was surrounded. Everything was a blur as she reacted completely on instincts. She felt her most fundamental training kick in, which was just to survive. Instinct told her to shoot sparingly, as she may need the ammo in the near future. Hand to hand combat was preferable when possible.

Ziva felt her own elbow slam into someone's jaw, then her whole body swing around and take down the one behind her. It was almost surreal as Ziva used her forearm to smash his head into the wall, the crunch oddly satisfactory.

It was second nature for Ziva to throw a quick punch, to kick out, to resort to using her gun. It all passed in a flash of colors, sounds, yelling, and pain. But she was not the only one landing her attacks. Ribs breaking again, whiplash, a bloody face, and an intense throb in her shoulder.

But she was alive. And they weren't. How had she done it? Ziva realized just how powerful survival instinct was in that moment. No time to ponder though, she realized as she hobbled as quickly as she could. Before moving on into more tunnels, more dark rooms, and more pain, Ziva stopped to pop her shoulder back into its socket.

The sickening snap told her that it was fine for the time being, so she moved on. But she wasn't expecting them to use her own strategy on her. There was another blur, another round of loud noises. Where had these two come from? Ziva buried a bullet in one of their chests before turning to the second.

But she was too slow. His fist connected with her nose, causing a gush of blood to thwart her breathing and a blinding pain to inhibit her functioning. Her leg gave out as he kicked at it and her gun slipped through her sweaty hand.

No, she hadn't come this far to die here. More struggles, more pain, more kicks as he pulled out a baton. He was going for the kill. Just as he raised it above his head to strike the deathblow, Ziva located the fallen gun and grasped it in her frantic hands. Turning over as quickly as her injuries would permit, she pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting its target.

His body fell next to her own, blood issuing from his head.

As Ziva traveled farther through the maze, she could hear something that made her almost cry with relief. English. It was urgent, it was rapid, and it was garbled, but it was English in an American accent.

Just as she heard the shouts, Ziva felt something rip first into her shoulder and then into her lower back. The stinging fire of the bullets bit into her flesh with a flaming anger, forcing her to fall face first into the hard earth.

There were more gunshots, but they mercifully did not hit her. Ziva felt someone kneel next to her, grasping her upper arms and pulling her up. The pain intensified tenfold as the ground began to fall below her and she was hoisted into someone's arms.

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm an American." The marine assured her.

Ziva could think of only one thing to say in reply before blacking out, "I am, too."

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	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Wow, it has been a loooong time! I am so, so, so, sorry guys. I am not even going to begin making up excuses. Well, I guess I can try. If any of you have a chance to take a trip to Whistler, Canada, DO it. One of the most beautiful places you can see. Stop at Vancouver on the way, as well. I gotta tell you, Canadians love their hockey. My kind of people. And then I was half way across the world for a month with limited internet access. And then I started my first year of college. So it has been a busy time in my personal life. Maybe you can partially forgive me? On the other hand, this chapter was super hard to write. Not sure why, but it was gut wrenching just to get a few words. So, glad all of you who are reading it have been patient, because this one isn't particularly long, but I thought I should get what I have up. And I promise to have another one up before the end of the week. So, enjoy, and my apologies again.

PS: By the way, in my haste to get it up, I skipped the editing part, so it is probably grammatically _dreadful._ Forgive me.

Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS or anything recognizable.

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She was bloody, beaten, and barely recognizable, but she was here. She was safe with him. He could see her, however pained she looked, and he could touch her, though he refrained from doing so in fear of aggravating any of her numerous injuries.

He wasn't sure if he should be glad that she was unconscious. How he wanted to hear her voice! How it would reassure him that she truly was alive if he could see her dark shining eyes! But it was probably best that she be unaware while she was in such a state.

The medics that had come along were muttering instructions and other gibberish to each other that Gibbs did not understand. He was pretty sure he didn't want to understand.

One of them placed an IV into her arm while the other attached some sort of portable monitor. Some sort of paste was being applied to her damaged skin and they were splinting her broken arm.

It was a very disconcerting feeling, being helpless. This was way out of his realm of expertise, so Gibbs just watched as they administered as much medical care as they could.

She was bad. Gibbs fingered a loose strand of her matted hair. It was course, tangled, and uneven. As if some of it had been ripped out. He went to hold her hand, but the broken skin and raw injuries looked too painful. Before he stroked her face, he saw that half of it was swollen and the other half bruised.

She was beyond being comforted by such small efforts and Gibbs was incapable of any higher medical assistance, so he sat there and watched as they stabilized her. Feeling helpless.

"Is she going to be okay?" Gibbs asked, trying to be heard over the helicopter.

"We need to get her to a trauma hospital as soon as possible."

……………

The darkness pressed on her eyes, refusing to allow her to open them. There were voices surrounding her, and she was moving. A loud noise dominated the space she was in, but she could hear the voices over the din.

They were different than the voices she had heard before. There was something familiar and comforting about them. Ziva couldn't be sure what they were speaking of, but it was in a language she was comfortable with and knew to mean safety.

So she just contented herself to listen, giving up trying to fight the insufferable darkness weighing on her consciousness.

Until she heard one particular voice. She would recognize that voice anywhere, anytime, and under any circumstance and feel safe. He spoke a simple sentence, one she had heard him say before, but it meant everything to Ziva in that moment.

It was Gibbs. He had come for her. He was with her now, here, taking her away from that….awful place.

"_Is she going to be okay?" _ Ziva shoved at the suffocating darkness, trying to fight back its smothering presence, trying to speak out and let him know she was here. He had to know she knew he was with her.

It was tiring, fighting unconsciousness, and she was exhausted. All she could manage was to twitch her fingers, hoping he would know she could hear him.

"_Ziva?!" _ His voice was distant, as if he was far away or his voice was being muffled by something. But she could hear him, and her name jolted her, gave her a shot of adrenaline.

"Gibbs?" It took every ounce of will to force herself to speak, force her vocal cords to work. Already she could feel the darkness encroaching.

"Ziva, it's me. I am with you. You're safe now." She could barely hear him, with all the other voices and that terrible sound filling her ears, but she understood. She was safe. She was with Gibbs. She would be seeing….him. Soon. She could apologize. Beg for forgiveness. See everyone.

With such peaceful thoughts, Ziva allowed the darkness to take over, now that she knew she was going to wake up to something pleasant.

…………..

The room was small, dominated by the bulky hospital bed, and the lights were bright and overpowering, but Tony did not notice any of these discomforts that often irked him. He felt kind of the same way Gibbs had when he had first seen Ziva. Exuberance and grief; happiness and horror; Relief and guilt. It was all so tiring, feeling so much at one time.

It was something Tony was not used to. Sure he had much deeper feelings than most thought him capable. The light hearted banter he often employed was simply a surface gesture. Something to hide his trivialities with. Who needed to know when he was heartbroken, hurt, or deeply in love and high as a kite?

But there was no jest or joke to be made today. Tony didn't care who witnessed his emotional tidal wave, because he knew they were all too preoccupied with Ziva and, to be honest, he really didn't give a damn right now.

She was here, safe, and protected. That was all that mattered.

He watched the uneven rise and fall of her chest, heard the stutter in her breath. Her face would twist in pain every so often, and he couldn't tell if it was a physical disturbance or some sort of living hell nightmare she was experiencing.

The doctors said it was best to let her get as much sleep as possible. It seemed she hadn't come by much of that in the past days.

Tony tore his eyes from the slight form in the bed to look across at Gibbs. He, too, was watching her, a nondescript look on his face. There was no impulse to say something humorous, to poke fun at his boss, or to vocalize anything at all. They were both content to sit there in silence, both comforting themselves with images of things they would love to do to those bastards.

Tony's every breath hung on the slight twitch of her fingers and the pull of her brow. Even in sleep, she found discomfort. Even miles away from the site of the…Tony couldn't bring himself to put a name to such an atrocity…she felt unrelenting fear.

A soft rap on the door brought both men's attention to the doctor who was walking in. In ordinary circumstances, Tony would have found her attractive. Maybe even made a sly remark or asked for her number.

But these weren't even close to ordinary circumstances. Tony tried to close his ears as she listed off the numerous and disastrous injuries. Broken bones, concussion, multiple lacerations and abrasions, an infection that was thankfully under control, and gunshot wounds.

"Thankfully, she got extremely lucky, if you can call it that. The gunshot wounds are, for the most part, flesh wounds. One only grazed her and the other got her shoulder." Tony scoffed at the word 'luck'. Lucky would mean she was home, safe, under their protection. But he let the doctor continue, "No sexual assault. Lots of physical therapy in her future, and some surgeries to repair the set bones, but, given time, she will eventually recover."

Gibbs' stony face had not changed. His cold eyes bore into hers and his voice was low. "Psychological damage?"

Now she looked uncomfortable. "One can only guess. I am not specialized in anything like that, but I can guarantee that she won't be the same."

Tony's heart sank. What had he been expecting? Of course no one, not even someone as strong as Ziva David, could come out of that the same.

"She will be transported by a medical evacuation helicopter tomorrow back to Washington. I assume you will accompany her?"

"Of course." Gibbs responded before turning back to the motionless woman who had so bravely made it this far.

"Hear that Ziva?" Tony whispered, smoothing her hair softly away from the bruised face. "You're going home."

Almost as if she could hear him, Ziva moaned softly, her face twitching in his direction. Turning away, not wanting her to have any chance of seeing his weakness in the face of her immense strength, Tony wiped away the silent tear that had escaped down his cheek.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Wow! It's been a _really _long time, and for that you have my sincerest apologies. I wasn't going to continue this story, since I did not complete it before the season premiere, but what the heck, why not? There may be a few loose ends that don't get tied up and, again, my apologies for that. This story is not going to end up being the polished masterpiece I intended, but then again, it probably wouldn't have been anyway. Thanks to the faithful readers and reviewers, you guys are great. There will only be a couple more chapters to this, but it will have some closure. Okay, I am going to shut up now. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything recognizable.

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The sounds were strangely blurred, jumbling together, running in unison to form a steady hum. There were voices, so many different voices!

There was a continuous beep, which became Ziva's way of marking time. There were other various noises as well. The occasional scraping sound, clicking, humming, and ticking.

Everything blurred, muffled, and unfamiliar. How disconcerting! And her eyelids refused to open, too heavy, too blanketed with a thick darkness. Too peaceful to want to leave. Well, the dark peace was often punctured and marred by images of a darker, more painful time, but all the same it was better than waking up and finding…whatever was waiting for her.

Had she imagined _his _voice? Was Gibbs close to her, protecting her? Saving her? Where was she that was creating such a din? What had happened?

Fists. Guns. Loud bangs. Pain. A knife.

A lot of memories came tumbling through her mind, too brief to really catch a hold on what had happened, but lingering just long enough to torture her mind.

It didn't feel like she was still in…_that_ place anymore. No, there was more going on here. Whatever platform she was on right now was soft and comforting rather than hard and dirty. The air filling her lungs was sterile and dry rather than rancid and dank.

It was definitely a better place, but where was it?

Then, all of a sudden, the sounds became a little clearer, separating themselves. It was almost like someone trying to find a radio station and it was going from fuzzy white noise to a clear channel.

The beep was coming from the left, close to her ear. Someone was whispering off to the right. The voice was oddly comforting. Someone was passing farther away, the click of their shoes fading. A door opened straight ahead.

Ziva tensed. They were coming back for her. The _thud_ as the door was shut awakened something in her. She had to get away. They were here. He was going to hurt her again.

But the blanket wouldn't lift. Ziva's fingers twitched, but movement took such a toll on her tired body that that was all she could manage.

"_Did she wake at all?" _ Who was that? It was unfamiliar. Female. A different approach they were taking, and a rather unexpected one. Female?

There was no answer, so Ziva had to assume the acknowledgment had been a physical signal rather than vocal.

What to do? How could she escape? The ghost of her screams, so tortured and weak, came back to haunt her from the dark recesses of her mind. His twisted, sick smile.

Just then, someone grabbed her wrist and finally, Ziva could do something.

The contact had ignited her instincts and she felt the adrenaline rush, searing and awakening her muscles. Sitting up rapidly, Ziva smacked away whoever had approached on her left and immediately felt at the restraint under her nose.

Ripping the tubing away, Ziva felt more alert and aware than she had in so long.

_Escape_. But where? There was a hallway straight ahead, a brightly lit one. No, that had to be the main passage.

Who was still next to her? Why had they stood for the assault of their companion?

Just as she was about to rip away the covers that were thrown over her, Ziva's eyes fell on who it was.

Freezing. Frozen. She couldn't move. She halted breathing, which had surprisingly gotten more difficult without the odd nose-restraint. The adrenaline began to recede, and with it Ziva's immunity to the dull ache in her chest.

How could it be? Had she fallen so far into her illusions? Mind tricks! They had drugged her. The bread, there was something in the bread she had been given. Because it was impossible for her to be with him again.

She was not moving, utterly still. Her eyes were fixed completely on Tony, who had just hung up with McGee. Her lips pressed together, her eyes wide and staring.

Tony lifted his hands to caution her, looking over to see the doctor getting cautiously to her feet, rubbing at the side of her face.

There was a soft rap at the door, which then gained Ziva's full attention. Gibbs walked in and halted, calmly taking in the scene.

Her eyes turned to him and, if possible, widened a little bit more. They darted back to Tony, then back to Gibbs, now holding a fresh cup of coffee.

"Ziva." Gibbs said softly, which seemed to jolt her out of her thoughts. "Ziva, you need to put the oxygen back on."

She hadn't even noticed her slight wheezing, but didn't take her eyes away from the pair of them. Almost as if she were afraid they would disappear.

Tony, too afraid to approach her, just simply stared at her, as unwilling to stop looking at her as she was of them. To see Ziva, awake, aware, and moving was like a breath of fresh air. She may have been hurt, changed, and terrorized, but she was awake now, looking at them, breathing and moving.

Gibbs moved forward, slow enough not to spook her, and she tensed. Her eyes, unwavering, continued to take in every move he made. Her hand twitched towards her hip as a habit, thinking her gun was there.

After what seemed an eternity, Gibbs took hold of the oxygen tube and held it closer to her. Best not to initiate contact for a while. Slowly, as if watching a movie in slow motion, she took hold of the oxygen and replaced it back on her face.

"That's better." Gibbs' voice was hardly more than a breath, but she heard him. And she heard all the concern and care in his voice that she had remembered.

"Where am I?" Ziva murmured, her voice, too, very muted.

Despite her voice being low, cracked, and cautious, Tony's heart leapt at the sound. The scratchy sound was more relieving to him than any other sound in the world at the moment.

"A hospital, Ziva. At a Naval base in Kuwait. It was the closest one with medical staff equipped to care for you." Gibbs replied.

"How long have I…been with you?" Ziva asked.

"About five days. They stabilized you as best they could back in Somalia and then flew you out here. We're taking you back to the States in about an hour."

At this Ziva's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing.

"I am going back to the U.S.?" she asked.

"Yes, if that is what you want. If you would prefer, we could arrange something to Tel Aviv…" it pained Gibbs to make the offer, but it was her choice. Whatever she wanted, just as it had been from the beginning.

"No, no…" Ziva trailed off, her thoughts with her father and his…mission. She had been right. All her fears confirmed. The workings of Mossad had turned to personal benefit rather than protecting the people. It had become corrupt, fitted to satisfy internal needs and greed rather than giving selflessly and proudly back to those who placed so much trust in the agency.

Of course, not all of the operations were run so. Her father only had a hand in a few of the more gruesome lies, but he did choose to turn a blind eye to some of the others. One in particular had irked her…but no. She would leave those explanations for later.

Ziva listened, face hard and eyes dark, as they explained to her how they had found out. Gibbs watched closely, trying to make sure that she wasn't overwhelmed, but she continued, giving off no expressions. She did flinch when they mentioned what they had seen on the tape, but nothing more.

Only a few things registered in Ziva's head. First and foremost, she was going home. She was going back to DC. But for how long? Didn't matter, she had gotten that impossible chance she had been hoping for.

At that thought, Ziva looked over to Tony, who was watching her cautiously, very hesitant but visibly content. Her rigid posture relaxed ever so slightly, and her heart thumped. She would be able to talk to him again. To laugh with him, though laughing seemed like a very unlikely occurrence for her.

Just as she parted her lips to extend the first greeting, Ziva felt a tug at her conscience. Her body began to fall back to its weakened state, now that the threat was not existent. Ziva laid back against the pillow. So soft. So odd to not have to try and imagine comfort while laying on a dirty stone floor.

What was she doing again? Oh! Tony. She had to talk to Tony.

"Tony…" Her voice was light as a feather, so fleeting and weak she wondered if he had heard her.

"Yes, Ziva?" He was there, with her, next to her, and she realized that there would be plenty of time to right her wrongs. If it was even possible anymore. So many wrongs she had committed.

But the main issue right now was how groggy and tired she felt. The darkness of sleep welcomed her, just as she whispered, "We'll talk…later."

As she slipped into slumber, Tony touched one of her fingers lightly, content just to know that she was near him.

"I'll be waiting." He whispered back. Had she heard him? He believed she had, as the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly at the sound of his voice.

……………………………

A/N: I know, I know, kind of a filler chapter again. I hope it tides you over until I can get some real content in there. Have to go back to previous chapters and my notes to get my story straight, literally. Well, here's to hoping I can keep my promise of a quick update.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Alright, here we go. Once again, this story kind of puttered to a crawl as I have kind of lost the thread of this story. I am doing my best to tie everything together, but unfortunately, some things will go unresolved. I hope it still comes out semi-okay. This is short, but since we are coming to an end, the next chapter should be up soon.

PS: As before, in my haste to get this up, I skipped revision and editing. It is rough, but hopefully still entertaining.

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or anything recognizable.

* * *

She sat in MTAC, impatiently tapping her fingers on the armrest. What was taking so long? Was it not twelve o'clock?

Ziva looked at her watch for the fiftieth time in ten minutes, realizing that it was only eleven fifty eight. Sighing, she looked over to the technician who simply shrugged.

It had been a month since her return, and she was slowly but surely recovering from the horrific….event. She still wouldn't allow her mind to recall what had happened. Her psychologist was not happy about this, giving her a bunch of bull about how it would help her heal. What did she know? As far as Ziva was concerned, what had happened could not be reversed, and the best you could do was forget about it. It had worked for her before, and it would work now.

Well, she could not avoid this any further. She had to talk to her father. He had called countless times, and had found excuse after excuse to put it off. Gibbs wouldn't allow her to put it off again. So here she sat, waiting for the scheduled appointment. She wasn't looking forward to it.

Suddenly, a warm hand fell on hers, halting the incessant tapping of her fingers. Ziva jumped a little bit before looking up at Gibbs. She smiled grimly as he sat next to her. Ever since her reunion with them, she hardly found herself alone.

Ziva closed her eyes, remembering back to that reunion.

"_I'm fine!" Ziva said once again as Tony attempted to help her into the elevator. Into the elevator? Did he think that just because she was on crutches she was unable to walk across a door jamb?_

"_Right, sorry." He backed off, his outstretched hands dropping to his sides instantly._

"_What's the hold up?" Gibbs slipped passed them, turning impatiently to watch the squabbling pair._

_They both silently stepped forward wordlessly._

"_Now, you'll want to let me go first. The unstoppable force named Abby is probably waiting to ambush us as we speak." Tony warned while stepping slightly in front of her._

_Ziva smirked, her cool outward appearance masking the jittery anticipation she was feeling inside. She was finally home._

_The 'ding!' of the elevator announced their arrival and, sure enough, there was a loud squeal and a flash of black hair, white lab coat, and an assortment of Goth accessories flying towards Tony._

_He grunted, stumbling backward from the impact as she embraced him._

_Ziva hobbled forward, a little wary, though she wasn't sure why._

_Abby turned to her with a look of pure happiness, relief, and giddiness on her face. All of Ziva's worries and apprehension melted as she was taken into a ginger hug, Abby whispering her relief at seeing her again in her ear._

_As the scientist stepped back, Ducky moved forward, the friendly smile Ziva remembered well warming her heart once again. He, too, pulled her into a gentle hug, giving her a pat on the back for good measure._

"_Oh, my dear. It's wonderful to have you back." He said._

"_Thank you." Her voice was raspy with emotion._

"_Ziva," McGee took his turn to greet her, and she felt her heart swell once again, "How are you?"_

_Ziva smiled wryly, but her reply was interrupted by Tony's sarcasm._

"_McGoo, a little sensitivity please!" Tony strolled over to his desk, dropping his bag and sitting down, propping his feet up onto the desk._

"_Tony, I think you're the last person who should be teaching sensitivity." McGee replied, returning to his own desk._

_Ziva observed contently from next to her old work station. Tony was relaxed, easing back into his self confident and charming ways. McGee was smiling slightly, finishing up a report on his computer. Abby was chatting away at her side, a hand resting softly on Ziva's shoulder. Ducky was talking to Gibbs, who was all business, as usual, putting his stuff away._

_Ziva felt incredible happiness at finally making it home._

Ziva was pulled away from her memories by Gibbs' muted voice.

"You ready, Ziver?" He asked.

"Of course." She answered automatically, not wanting her insecurities to show through. She had never been more fearful of facing her father than now. Glancing at her watch again, she realized that her father was late. She had never known him to be late before. Yet, he had done a lot of things she had never known him to be capable of recently.

She briefly thought of the odd visitor she had had towards the end of her captivity. The one who didn't fit, who had shown kindness.

It had taken her a while to put the pieces completely together. She still wasn't completely sure in her theories. One thing she did know was that she had met that man, briefly, in Tel Aviv. She was also sure that he was a part of Mossad. She had done her research, seeing as she still had a few faithful contacts within the agency, and found that there had been a six month mission involving a terrorist cell.

There had been successful infiltration of an unnamed Mossad officer. That officer had been called back just after the terrorists had decided to kill a female prisoner. While rescue plans had been preset, the officer had not been prompted to act on any of them.

In a last act of kindness, that officer, whoever he had been, had taken his rations to her in an attempt to provide some level of comfort. She had no intentions of selling him out. Any act of hesitation or remorse when given direct orders to pull out would get you fired, no questions asked.

Again, Ziva found herself being shaken from her own musings, this time by the voice of the technician.

"We're online." She said, adjusting her headset and turning to her control panel.

The screen flickered, and Ziva sucked in an involuntary breath at the sight of her father.

"Shalom, daughter."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Well, my friends, we have reached the final chapter of this story. For those of you who usually skip over the author's notes, please read this one. I know this has lagged and has probably lost some of its appeal as we reached the later chapters. Because of that, I want to thank all my reviewers who stayed with me, even when I was not updating as regularly and even though the story lost quite of bit of luster. The only reason this has even made it to the last chapter is because of you guys and gals out there who were kind enough to take the extra time to leave a comment. Unless you're a fellow writer, you can never know the boost an author gets when they get something as simple as a "Well done!". So, thank you, reviewers. And to those who read without reviewing, I hope you enjoyed the story, too.

Writing this chapter, I learned one thing: I'm an idiot. I wrote a beauty of a finisher, polished, edited, and one to be proud of. Then my computer died. All's okay though, right? I mean, no writer is that much of an idiot where they don't save their work as they go, right? WRONG! I lost all of my progress, and therefore, I am an idiot. That is why it is late, because I had to take a few extra days to get over the discouragement and crank another version out, and it may not be as good as the original, but it is finished. So, enjoy, I am not sure, but this is probably a little anti-climatic, but it is finished and wraps up most of what was started. Hope you like!

M-A91

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"Why?" Ziva felt the word slip through her lips, the question that had plagued her since the moment she had been taken into captivity. And there were so many whys. Why did he send her on a mission he knew could not be completed? Why did he send her without backup, making it more of a suicide mission than anything else? Why had he not taken greater strides to find out what had happened? Why, when he already had an officer in place within the cell, did he not rescue her?

Why, why, why…………

So many answers she was looking for, though she knew there would only be a couple made available to her. And most of them would be lies. She would never know the true workings of her father's mind or the motivations behind his actions. But she had to ask. Why?

"Dear Ziva," the sentiment sounded terribly wrong on his tongue "Believe me, this was not how things were supposed to happen."

"No?" She asked simply, her voice was much stronger than what she expected, concealing the shaky feelings and emotions that were brewing just below the surface. In fact, she sounded in control and self assured. "Then what were you expecting out of this, father? What other outcome were you hoping for?"

Eli David was silent for a moment, his hand fingering the little golden Star of David under his desk and away from her eyes. When he finally found the words, he looked up to stare her straight in the eyes.

"I do not explain myself to you, Ziva!" He snapped, "There are no questions! There are no explanations! You complete your duty and then move to the next one. You knew that when you were younger and you were better because of that. Somewhere along the way, you have stepped outside your boundaries and this is where we have ended up."

Ziva stayed silent, watching in resolved defiance as her father ranted about duty and boundaries. Yes, she when she was younger she had followed his rules blindly, stayed inside the lines, listened to the flimsy excuses, but she had also been foolish. Young and foolish.

"I never listened." Ziva stated quietly. "I never listened when Ari told me how it truly was. He may have done the wrong thing and believed in the wrong cause, but he knew the truth and did something about it. The only thing I am sorry for is not having listened to him earlier. Maybe then I would have been able to help him better."

Now it was Eli David's turn to regard her wordlessly, sharing in the epiphany that had just taken place. They both knew this was it. They both knew Ziva was no longer of Mossad and that she would not be returning to her father. They both knew that, in that moment, she was more American than she was Israeli. They both knew that Ziva was more Gibbs' agent than she was Eli's daughter.

It felt both liberating and excruciating. It felt both relieving and devastating. Mossad had been such a big part of her for such a long time, and even though feeling that part of her ripped away was for the best now, it was still painful.

"Just tell me, Abba," Ziva asked, the emotions finally flooding through to shake her voice. There was no reason to inquire about why, or what, or how. It would do no good to her when she would be met with carefully crafted fairytales that she knew had been prepared and were well rehearsed. So she let those go and allowed herself to ask a more personal question, "Did you ever see us as more than tools? Did you ever see me and Ari as more than weapons?"

The director of Mossad's eyes remained cold, his face void of compassion, or any emotion for that matter.

"All three of you were born for a reason, your futures carefully mapped out by no other than myself. All of it meant to benefit Israel, Mossad, and, in turn, yourselves." He paused here, "I have been failed by all of my children."

Another silence stretched between them, the thousands of miles separating them geographically doing nothing to ease the tension.

Ziva continued to stare at him, saying nothing, but her glowing eyes speaking a thousand words.

"You have proven where your allegiance truly lies on more than one occasion. For that, you are dead to me. I have nothing more to say to you." Ziva watched as the Mossad director signaled for the feed to be cut and as her father's stony face flickered and disappeared.

The physical healing process had been significantly successful, but the emotional repercussions were still being felt. She knew it wouldn't be easy to overcome the onslaught of blows that seemed to constantly bombard her, but as Gibbs sat steadfastly by her side, her silent rock and supporter, she knew it was possible.

……..

Ziva leaned on the railing outside, feeling the heaving of her chest as she silently drowned in a sea of regrets, sadness, and pain. Her eyes were dry. It seemed as if she had run out of tears after the floods that she had shed upon her return.

No one was out here, a place Ziva hardly came. The small patio was a common meeting place for the frequent smokers and tired office hands of the building, but no one was on break at the moment.

That's why Ziva was surprised when she felt someone place their hand on her back. She immediately stiffened when she saw who had joined her. Tony stood next to her, not looking at her but rather staring out into the gray gloom of the sky.

"It's a little chilly. You alright?" Tony broke the silence, and Ziva knew his question was addressing more than just her lack of a jacket.

"Yes, I am fine. Thank you." She answered.

Tony sighed, his warm breath coming out in a visible puff. Small droplets started to darken the ground and patter against the aluminum awning they were standing under.

Ziva knew what she had to do, but wasn't sure where to start. It was imperative that there be resolution between them. There had to be, they were going to be colleagues once again and in their line of work, tension between partners meant possible disaster.

"Tony, I-"Ziva began before he turned to her and cut her off.

"I know, Ziva." He said.

"No, there are a lot of things that need to be said." Ziva persisted, trying to recall all of the numerous ways she had phrased her apologies, explanations, and expressions.

Tony remained silent, and she took that as a cue to continue.

"I have treated many of the people I care about badly. I have said and done many hurtful things. I have not been the partner or the friend that is deserved by you and others. I know asking for total forgiveness is too much, so all I ask is that we can put this all behind us." Ziva laughed a little, nervousness rattling her. This was not a situation she was used to. She usually did not find herself apologizing.

She went on when Tony did not respond but instead continued to watch her thoughtfully. "There were so many ways I planned on doing this. This is what I wished for so much when I thought it was….the end. A second chance. Do you think you can give me one?"

Ziva looked away, feeling her subconscious succumb to shame, a natural reaction that she had been taught to feel whenever revealing weakness.

The rain was pounding harder now, and Ziva took a deep breath, the smell of stale cigarettes and wet asphalt permeating the air around her. She became even more nervous when Tony still hadn't answered yet.

As Ziva started to consider just walking back inside to escape the growing feeling of apprehension, his warm hand slid into hers.

"Consider it behind us." He said simply, and all of her discomfort melted as he gave her a teasing half smile. "And if you ever need me, for anything, I'll be here."

Ziva nodded, uncomfortable with all the different feelings that she had all of a sudden. She closed her eyes, not to stop the tears, because there were none there; rather, she was simply reveling in the content that had wrestled its way to the forefront of her emotions. The warmth of his hand on her's seemed to be giving her strength. Before all of this, the two of them had been on the brink of discovering a whole new facet to their relationship and, while it had scared her, she had been eager to begin learning more about that part of her. Now, Ziva knew there was a long, long way to go before they could ever think about finding themselves in that place again.

But right now, with him standing there with her in silent support, his rare affectionate gesture swelling her heart, she felt comfortable with the friendship they were sharing. He was a true friend, one that was willing to be there for her and help her and one who had the same knowledge that she had about the far off potential for something more. There was no way for her to express the gratitude and relief that he had so forgivingly accepted her apology and offered his companionship once again.

The rain was picking up, the hammering on the awning growing to a deafening volume. Deciding that it was time to return to the bullpen, she gently disentangled their fingers before returning his smile. She wasn't sure if he was following her, but he was there a few minutes after she had settled into her chair behind the familiar desk.

Sitting in front of her were two files that had been placed there, presumably, by Gibbs. After all, he had promised them within the week. Her hands hesitated over the cover of the first one before falling limply on top of the manila folders.

McGee was behind his own desk, talking on the phone to some bank representative regarding a minor case they were handling. He gave her a friendly grin when he saw her.

Tony was now pulling up some credit card records on his computer, trying to spot any anomalies while making some snarky remark about how PFC Jacobs was apparently quite fond of some shady bar. Gibbs came striding in, then, hanging up his phone after conversing with Ducky.

"Grab your gear. The wife, Carol Jacobs, just returned from Toronto and found a body waiting for her." Gibbs slung his bag over his shoulder before point at Ziva, "I want those on my desk completed when I get back. I can only get Vance to allow you here as a consultant for so long."

The sides of her mouth twitched slightly as she watched the three of them walk to the elevator, Tony giving McGee some grief over the cold coffee he had brought back.

Ziva turned back to the files, flipping the top one open with confidence.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CITIZENSHIP APPLICATION

With her eyes scanning the document, she quickly filled out all the preliminary information, itching to get to the full-time NCIS agent application that was resting just below this one.

It was going to take a while to regain any sense of the easy normalcy she had enjoyed in what seemed to be a lifetime ago, but it was slowly getting there.

Ziva signed her name with a flourish at the bottom, excited and slightly fearful to finally be getting that fresh start that had seemed so elusive in the pit of a terrorist cell. Her questions had not been answered, her scars not completely faded, her emotions not yet figured out, but she had the people who loved her most by her side, ready to help her piece together her new life as an American.


End file.
